


Console me

by aiffair



Category: Fruits Basket
Genre: Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Love, Lust, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 19:27:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19279642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aiffair/pseuds/aiffair
Summary: A non-canon story that follows through the lust and love of Haru and Rin, and their ability stay strong for eachother.





	1. akito's special room.

**Author's Note:**

> first ao3 post ! enjoy ~

Her chest hurt. She was laughing too hard for minutes on end.

Her stomach was excruciatingly painful, laughing was causing her stomach to cramp with discomforting pain, which was both enjoyable at the same time. 

She was unable to stand, the laughing made her limbs like jelly and not bearing the strength to lift her small frame off the ground. 

Her shoulders were shaking. Laughter erupting loudly from her tummy.

Tears streamed down her face. Oh how she had laughed too hard for too long, her cheeks drenched.

Her father bends down and wiped away her tears and looks at her lovingly. 

"You're so beautiful, Rin. I love you so much."

The little girl smiles, that was the best thing anyone had ever said to her. 

"I love you too daddy!"

The two hug, as she young girl enthusiastically clutches her father.

Her mother watches from the doorway of the living room and smiles warmly.

She had never felt better.

She was safe.

Her mother, her father, here.

\--

 

The floorboards creak from down the hallway. 

It was all different now. 

Her chest hurts. She had been kicked several times there.

"Rin?"

Her stomach is excruciatingly painful. She hadn't eaten in days.

"Riiiin~"

She is unable to stand. She's so limp she can't pry her bruised, emaciated body off the ground.

"Time for our bonding time..."

Her shoulders are shaking. Trembling in fear. This was the 8th time this week.

"I hope you're ready."

Tears streamed down her face. She wanted nothing but to get out of this place. 

Akito bends down and grabs her hair, pulling her head up from the floor, looking at her intensely. 

"You're so ugly, Rin. I hate you so much."

The girl hangs her head.

"I hate myself too."

Hatori watches from the doorway of the hallway and stays quiet.

She had never felt worse.

She wasn't safe anywhere.

Her mother, her father, gone.

 

She was on her own.

For now.


	2. hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the extremely inactive posting. Will try to get a chapter out at least every 4-5 days.

3:26pm - 深い Hospital.

"The environment was silent. 

Dead, pale and motionless.

Similar to me. Pale, motionless, but not dead. 

Nearly dead.

Nearly.

The saying 'beaten half to death' had never stood out to me before. 

It had never meant anything significant.

Until that night, the night where my mother and father, showed me a side of them they had hidden from me until now.

'I was beaten half to death!'

Don't go saying bullshit like that.

Everyone says that nowadays.

'I'm so depressed that we have homework.'

'Family reunions, I'm going to kill myself.'

'I can't go ask my parents for that. My anxiety will kick in.' 

'I hate life, my friend just left me. I want to die.'

Fuck you. 

Fuck. You.

You have no idea what it is like.

To really go through that, is worse than words can describe.

The memories of your own mother, your sweet, kind, loving mother; 

throwing things around the house,

screaming, 

smashing plates,

threatening you with a knife,

spitting in your face,

dragging you by your hair,

kicking you,

throwing you,

burning you,

neglecting you,

starving you...

Those images, can harm a child. Especially at my age.

I was young, beautiful, youthful, a growing student still in middle school when that happened.

I had never known a day free from happiness.

Yet one question, set it all off.

Why was this question holding so much modality.

Just one simple question.

All children ask questions.

They are young, naive, unknowing of almost everything.

So why.

'Are you truly happy all the time?  
Don't you ever feel sad?'

Why must you beat me.

Why must you shut me away.

Why must you reject me.

Why must you, hate me.

You hurt me. 

Badly.

I'll never recover from this. 

I can't.

There's no way I can.

The last two memories I've ever fostered from my parents are both too traumatising for me to ever forget.

The way my father...

rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white business shirt,

loosening his tie and standing abruptly from the dinner table.

The last ever memory I have of him I wish was a positive one,

but it's hard to call a very angry, very fast fist travelling right to your face, a positive.

And my mother.

The way she stood there.

In the doorway of the ward, clutching her handbag, face devoid of any emotion.

Face deprived of any warmth or kindness I was so used to seeing there.

'Don't come home.  
We don't want you to come home.'

It hurt.

My hearts palpitations skyrocketed, in extreme shock and stress.

Right then and there, when I needed you most,

you abandoned me.

You disowned me.

Why was I disowned mother?

Did you not love me anymore?

Did you love me at all?

Or was that an act too?

I don't know what love is.

I will never know what love is.

People like me,

don't deserve love.

Toxic and tainted.

My kind of love, would only kill someone in the end.

You taught me that mother, as my tears and dribble soaked the hospital bedsheets.

You taught me I only hurt people.

But even if that was the case, I was selfish enough to wish you would forgive me.

I wished you to hold me, love me like you did before, tell me everything would be alright, and take me home.

You wouldn't even need to apologise. I would'vealready have forgiven you.

It was my fault you beat me.

It was my fault I made you both snap.

It was my fault my life is nothing I want to be part of.

But you didn't accept my apologies.

You didn't pay attention to my desperate cries.

You didn't acknowledge my pleads.

You shunned me.

You didn't want me anymore.

You didn't need me.

But I needed you. 

I needed you.

You weren't there,

when I needed you most.

-

But you.

You were there. 

When I needed someone.

Anyone.

Someone to confide in.

Someone to lean on entirely.

Someone to cry with.

Someone to hold me.

Someone, to love me.

White and black-haired, handsome, and daring.

You were there for me.

Haru.

You fended off my evil mother.

You said all the things I wish I had the courage to say myself.

You knew exactly what I wanted to say.

You knew me too well, even then. When I first met you.

"She's your daughter isn't she?! How could you do this to her?!?!!"

Your breath was loud and rough, I felt the anger pierce through my mother.

It was loud and clear.

She rejected me. So you rejected her. For me.

And then, when she heartlessly left the hospital, without any hesitation or concerns, you had to sit with me.

You felt obligated to sit with me.

As I cried pathetically, I cried, and cried and cried.

I could not stop the tears.

My heart was not used to pain.

It had taken one big hit so suddenly,

I could nearly hear it crack everytime I gasped for air.

My body was bruised, matched my heart.

My femur, tibia, both humeruses, scapula and 6 ribs were broken, same as my mindset.

I bled. And I wept. And I screamed.

I'm sorry you had to witness me like that Haru.

I'm sorry you had to see me in such a unruly state.

You did not deserve it.

I deserved all of this.

All the pain.

All the suffering.

All the immense aching, I felt deep in my nerves.

Still, you took my hand.

So delicately, careful of my bleeding wrists and knuckles.

You took it, held it, wiped my tears and cried with me.

You cared, when no one else did.

You were there when I needed you.

You tried your best to make my situation that little less unbearable.

Seemingly impossible for such an extreme case.

But you still tried.

You tried, to console me."


End file.
